


The Phrase That Pays

by CobraPandemic



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Death, Drug Abuse, F/M, Gang Violence, Gen, M/M, Multi, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobraPandemic/pseuds/CobraPandemic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When both of Pete's parent's are killed he is forced to move to Las Vegas with his aunt and uncle. Here is where he meets a blue-eyed angel and joins a gang of ruthless- extremely attractive- teens... Decaydance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is poorly written, warning number uno. Warning dos; I may or may not continue it. Warning tres; it is so new that I haven't gotten all of my pairings decided but this one def leans more in the Pete/Patrick direction.
> 
> I feel like I had more to note but I've forgotten so...
> 
> Read on, reader.

 

Admittedly Pete- as obscure and withdrawn as he seemed- didn’t like the feeling of being alone. He found it disarming and, well, lonely. Growing up he was used to having somebody constantly by his side— with a stay at home mom and a father that worked non-stop out of a home office— Pete had never quite experienced the all-consuming rapport that is loneliness.

So of course now, it should come as no surprise that Pete is a virgin. He’d lived a sheltered, Christian life for the majority of his 15 years. No one with cruel intentions was ever welcomed into the Wentz household so as you can probably imagine, Pete never really went through a rebellious stage. He’d dyed his hair once— a bright red and cut it himself with rusted scissors he found in the garage. His mother made him get a Tetanus shot right after though.

Realistically, Pete could’ve gone his whole life not ever wanting to participate in the scandalous, illegal and utterly un-Christian ways of “The Scene.” Something about being sweated on by hundreds of teens at a run-down venue, huffing down marijuana and getting wasted didn’t turn Pete on. It freaked him out.

_Mostly_. But things change. Situations dissolve and new ones evolve. Pete’s life was no exception.

He can basically remember the day like it had happened an hour ago. It was the middle of May- end of his freshmen year at Wilmette Central High School. He’d been sitting at a table with his best friend Joe, an upperclassmen with huge hair and even huger musical talent. Guy could shred like no one’s business. Lunch usually consisted of Pete and Joe discussing the ins and outs of 80s metal bands— a secret obsession that Pete dared not bring into his home life— and scarfing down whatever putrid filth the cafeteria provided. That day it had been tuna casserole. _That_ day Pete and Joe opted to eat from the vending machine.

Pete was in the middle of a sentence, trying to explain to his friend the obvious difference between metal pre-85 and post, Cheeto bits falling from his lips with every syllable, when his name was called over the PA system. A simple and curt, _“Peter Wentz to the principal’s office. Now.”_

Joe’d given him a half-alarmed look. Neither of them were trouble makers, for one. They left that to guys like Gerard and Frank. No, Pete and Joe were good Christian (and Jewish) boys. Pete just shrugged at his best friend and lifted himself from the table, not realizing that it’d be one of the last times he’d see this school. Joe’s face. Chicago.

The walk from the principal’s office to the police cruiser waiting outside seemed longer than he expected. Like he was walking and not making any progress. Every poster on the wall, every locker he passed seemed the same. Every student’s face melding together into an endless sea of staring, _knowing_ glances.

Pete remembered asking the officer escorting him why he was being taken from school. It was only once they’d arrived at the police station and Pete was sitting across from the Chief equipped with an iced coffee and jelly filled donut— which neither of, by the way, made Pete feel any less distraught— did they tell him.

_“Peter-”_ the chief, David Downey, had begun.

_“Pete,”_ Pete felt it necessary to correct the man in front of him as he sipped apprehensively on the slightly bitter iced coffee. Pete received an empathetic nod in return.

_“Pete, this morning at approximately 10:08 am we received a call reporting three rounds being fired at your address. Under further investigation one of our officers found the bodies of two people. A male and female. Both were identified. The case was murder. Pete, I’m sorry but your parents are dead.”_

Pete can remember the feeling he had right in his gut. It was cold and heavy and big. Bigger than anything he’d ever felt. The feeling he was having was total, vast and inescapable grief.

Pete stayed at the station that night. The next morning his Aunt Dana and Uncle Ron were there. The next evening he was in Las Vegas, Nevada. His new home. The next week he was enrolled at Summerlin High School.

And to think…

His worst fear had been loneliness.

 

* * *

 

 

Las Vegas and Chicago were different in a lot of ways. The weather being the very first. Chicago was cool and gray, never too warm. Vegas. Well, Vegas— and all of Nevada—  is bright, dry and hot. Hotter than anything Pete was used to in June. June back home was at the warmest 85 degrees. June here… at the coolest is 98 degrees Fahrenheit. Pete was positive he’d melt before he reached the bus stop.

His aunt and uncle weren’t stay at home parents. No, they were more like… Vacation home parents. They worked so frequently that being at home was like a vacation for them. So Pete spent most of his time alone. For about a week. And on his 16th birthday his Aunt Dana’s gift to him was a bus pass.

_“Summer school. The curriculum here in Vegas is much more strenuous than in Wilmette, honey, so you need to be caught up before the term starts this fall,”_ was what she said as she handed Pete the pass. _“Oh, almost forgot! Happy birthday, Petey,”_ and with that she was off to work and Pete was off to school.

It didn’t help that they lived in the middle of the desert with the only public transport almost 3 miles away. Which isn’t far. But it’s too far when heat stroke is a potential factor. Pete shoved in headphones reveling in the way they muted the world around him. He didn’t even play any music, just listened to the muffled sound of the occasional car passing and then—

Pete snatched his earbuds out when he realized he was being _honked at._ Looking to his left he found a two-door pick up full of teens. Three up front and three in the truck’s bed.

“You need a ride to school, ol’ pale one?” asked the teen in the passenger seat. He had brown hair down to his shoulders, chubby cheeks and piercing blue eyes. He was also pounding away on the dashboard with a couple of drumsticks. “You don’t look… equipped to walk the distance,” he smiled wickedly and the driver chided him, leaning forward to stare at Pete, a calculating stare. Like a teacher seeing it’s students for the first time.  This boy was beautiful and wearing a newsboy cap. He had a shapely face with dark eyes and eye make-up kin to a fashion model. The driver was struggling to see Pete around the boy sitting in the middle who seemed to be a ball of energy, bouncing around in the seat, singing to himself loudly.

“Uh,” Pete, in awe, stammered before hitching his bag onto his shoulder. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got a lot of room so I think I can just walk,” he replied. Honestly, the offer sounded sweet. A god-sent. But there was something about the boys all piled into and onto the pick-up that just set Pete into a fit paranoia.

“There’s always room for one more, and if Ry offers you a ride, you’d better take it. Else your time spent in Summerlin this summer won’t be so fun,” came the soft, gentle yet oh-so-frightening voice of a blond in the back. He had on a trucker cap and his eyes were sky blue. Looking at him made Pete feel like he was underwater, drowning. That blond boy was the reason Pete nodded swiftly and hopped onto the back of the truck.

That blond boy would be the reason behind every single thing Pete did for the next two years.

This was the beginning of something that Pete couldn’t have ever predicted and no story-teller could have ever foretold.

Pete had just joined the ranks of the most ruthless gang in Vegas. _Decaydance_.


	2. And Then It Snowed in Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter that was written out of a need to put at least SOME effort into getting my writing grove back. A chapter in which Patrick is cold and Pete is confuzzled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm sorry I slack off so much on my content. I've been working super hard to move out of this crappy town and I won't begin to mention my new obsession with Korean Drama and K-Pop (it's consumed my soul). So this is a short bit of an update for this story. I hopefully will post more in the coming days so bookmark the story to stay up-to-date. 
> 
> P.S. Please if you have time leave a comment if you enjoy this work. It gives me personal and selfish verification that I am a talented writer and that is just the bee's knees <3
> 
> Thanksssss, 
> 
> CobraP.

Pete can say with very little room for doubt that the ride to Summerlin High that morning was the most uncomfortable experience he’s ever had. Not just the slight dampness of the truck bed seeping into his jeans or the way sand got in his mouth every time he inhaled. No, it was the sole fact that every second of the way he could only feel the blonde boy. The kid is staring at Pete somehow-- even with Pete sitting right next to him. His eyes feel like lasers, hot and unwavering. Not to mention that with every bump and thump of the truck Pete shudders at the feeling of the blonde’s warm, slightly sweaty arm brushing against his own.

 

“What’s your name?” Pete ventures to be more outgoing than he typically is in normal social situations as he turns to face the blonde. He honestly expects a short and simple reply but what he gets is dead silence. Complete and utter silence.

 

“Patrick doesn’t speak unless he has to,” the boy sitting across from Pete extends his Converse clad foot to tap Pete gently on the knee, leaving reddish-brown dust on Pete’s scarlett jeans. The boy across from Pete could only be described as a “Daddy Long Legs.” His body-- even while sitting in the back of the cramped truck-- is obviously long and slender. He wears tight black jeans, bright red Converse and a long sleeved, striped tee that looks like it’s been stretched every day for several years. “Don’t take it as him being a dick or anything, he’s mostly harmless-” the boy smiles wickedly at Pete. “-mostly. Anyway, I’m William. You can call me Bill. Or Billiam. Never Will.”

 

Pete, at a loss for comprehensible words, just nods and replies, “Oh, I’m Pete.”

 

“You look like a Pete,” the smaller boy pressed against William’s side takes out his earbuds and grins- rather brightly- at Pete. “I mean you could pass as a Jason too, I guess... I’m Nate, by the way. You look like you were going to ask so there you go.”

 

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you. I mean- all of you. Really. Thanks for the ride, too. I’m not used to this weather yet. It’s way hotter than I expected.” _Wow, I’m talking about the fucking weather. Can I get more stupid?_   Pete mentally scolds himself. “I’m from Chicago so... this is really not my scene, ya know.”

 

William nods, the Vegas sun reflecting off of his angular yet feminine features, “I got ya, I was born in Chicago. Grew up there until I was 12 then moved here when my ‘rents got divorced. Nate here-” William points at the very tiny boy beside him, “-is from Jersey. Been here for about three years. Been with us for about a year. He’s our youngest mem-”

 

“Bill,” Pete nearly chokes hearing Patrick’s voice for the first time in nearly ten minutes. He looks over to see that the blond isn’t particularly _glaring_ at William but he doesn't seem all that sweet on him either. “Think before you speak,” he speaks shortly, calculated too. But as gentle, cold and soft as fresh snow.

 

William, just as startled as Pete apparently, snaps his thin lips shut before yanking one earbud out of Nate’s ear and shoving it into his own.

  
The rest of the drive is this way; silent.


	3. Guess Who's Back

I don’t really know where to begin, here. I suppose beginning at the beginning is the best. I’ll start by saying sorry. I have been missing from AO3 for something to the tune of five years. The last time I uploaded or even wrote anything was when I was at the prime age of 19. Well, hello, I’m 24 and after reading the messages from everyone who took the time to read my fics, I have decided to keep writing.

I don’t know if anyone will read this, if anyone will give a shit, but the bandom has evolved. We’ve lost some bands, we’ve gotten others back. Some have disappeared completely. But they live on in our hearts- just as inspiring and homo-erotic as we all love to remember. 

Some of you guys are long time enjoyers of my content and I would love to hear your preferences on my current unfinished works and what you want to be updated first.

I will begin uploading again on Friday, October 13th with a nice spoopy drabble for you all to feast upon. I do however need some suggestions. That means if you’d like a specific pairing, maybe a specific band, scenario, setting… Just leave it in the comments and I will work with what I receive. 

It will be a 3-part anthology. I will shoot for a solid three stories and attempt to tie them together by the final chapter (think, American Horror Story: Bandom).

It’s going to be fucking awesome. 

Again, thank you guys for your continued support over the years here on AO3 and I can’t wait to hear some of your ideas!

-Cobrapandemic


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